Cenotaph
by Silverr
Summary: "Stay," he said. "I'm not done with you yet." Near the end of his life, a widowed former king in declining health reunites with an old friend.
1. Stormwind

Disclaimer: _Warcraft_ and _World of Warcraft_ are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of _Warcraft, World of Warcraft,_ or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

 _Summary:_ Near the end of his life, a widowed former king in declining health reunites with an old friend.

Note: Although this story was initially sparked by a kinkmeme prompt, certain indignities of old age have been treated in a realistic rather than an eroticized manner. I chose not to tag for some of that content: if you have any concerns or questions about what might be included, please contact me before reading the story.

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 **Cenotaph  
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 _by silverr_

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Cenotaph: _noun._ 1\. a sepulchral monument erected in memory of a deceased person whose body is buried elsewhere.

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Part 1: Stormwind

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… 1 …

It had been the sort of dawn not often seen in Stormwind: instead of a graceful ebbing of the darkness into shades of blue and gold, the night had fled from curdled red clouds that boiled up on the horizon. Even after the sun had pushed through, spreading out a reassuringly cloudless brightness, some citizens, mindful of the old sailors' adage about red skies at morning, hurried to complete their errands before the storm's violence arrived.

The man entering Stormwind's public garden carrying an armload of wildflowers was not one of them. He wore simple dark clothing, and his shoulder-length dark hair framed a dramatically handsome brown face that was enhanced rather than marred by the lines of middle age. Patiently, calmly, as unconcerned about any approaching storm as the birds twittering in the trees, he made his way through the cedar-lined pathways and rose pergolas toward what the Stormwind citizens called "The Green Lady's grave," then knelt and began to arrange the flowers artfully around the base of the white stone plinth.

Nearly fifty years ago, shortly after the war with the Legion, a farmer named Wollerton had gifted his property—a modest farm and an adjacent pond on the outskirts of the city—to the crown, to be used as King Anduin saw fit for the good of the families of Stormwind. Anduin, newly married, had asked his queen what she thought should be done with the land; she had suggested that a portion of it be set aside as a place where the battle-weary citizens could not only be be reminded of all they had fought for, but also find solace in beauty. Anduin enthusiastically agreed to this, and when she admitted that she had some ideas for the design, he put her in charge of the project. The resulting memorial garden and its creator had become so beloved over the next thirty-five years that when she died a cenotaph had been placed at the center of the garden in her honor.

The man arranging the flowers finished his task, then glanced through the trees across Olivia's Pond toward the arched opening in the city wall at the northern end of Old Town—in wartime sealed by an ironbound gate, but now, in the time of the Great Peace, open and unguarded. Most of those who passed through the gate he paid no mind, but finally a particular group commanded his attention. Though they were too far away to make out individual faces, the man knew that the white-haired figure in a wheelchair at the head of the procession was the former king, Anduin, and that the wheelchair was probably being pushed by Lady Susannah, Anduin's eldest granddaughter and a paladin of the reformed Silver Hand. Those following Anduin and Susannah were likely to be Anduin's children and their spouses, their children and grandchildren, and various dignitaries and visiting scholars. Normally this visit to the late queen's memorial took place in the early afternoons, so that the midday sun could warm the former's king's frail old bones, but today it seemed they had set out earlier, in order to keep Anduin out of the incipient rain and chill.

The procession had descended the grassy verge, and was now making its way around the pond.

The man made a few final adjustments to the flower arrangement, then waited. As the group entered the garden and came down the path he saw that the royal family was accompanied by the female gnome who had been in the king's service for over a decade as well as several unfamiliar elves, dwarves, and worgen.

"Someone's already here," Lady Susannah said as she noticed him. She stopped pushing the wheelchair, set the brake, then came around to stand protectively at her grandfather's side.

After inclining his head in acknowledgement to Lady Susannah and the gnome, the man looked steadily at Anduin. "You came earlier than usual this year," he said in faintly-accented Common.

Anduin, ensconced under a snugly-tucked blanket, seemed almost oblivious to his surroundings. His eyes, startlingly blue in his age-ravaged face, were unfocused and watery, although his hands, resting on the blanket over his lap, twitched slightly each time an explosion of far-off thunder crept nearer.

"And so at last we catch the mysterious admirer who's been leaving tributes all these years," the king said, eyeing the stranger with mild distrust.

The man spread his arms. "I trust I have not broken any laws by doing so? I assume it is no trespass to enter a public park to pay respects to the deceased."

"You always leave the same type of flower at the Green Lady's memorial," the queen said. "Why?"

The man smiled faintly. "Such flowers grow abundantly in the wilds, and they are blue and yellow. Blue and yellow are still Stormwind's colors, are they not?"

Anduin had squinted, then raised a hand to rub fretfully at his eyes. His mouth began to work as if he were trying to speak, but the sounds were not audible.

"What is it?" his granddaughter leaned over to ask him.

"Those particular varieties of blue and yellow flowers were my mother's favorite," the king said, "but very few people outside my family know that. Very few." There was just the slightest edge to his voice. "So I must ask how you came to possess such personal information?"

Before the man could respond, Anduin leaned forward suddenly and said hoarsely, "Wait! I know you." There was disbelief, and yet also a rising hopefulness. He raised a trembling hand and pointed. "But it _can't_ be you. It has to be a trick."

"No trick, my old friend," the man said, placing a hand over his heart and giving a small bow. "I forgive your uncertainty. It has been many years since we had our adventures, and I looked rather different at the time." For an instant his brown eyes flashed red, like fire opals catching the light. "But then again, so do you. The beard suits you. It's very… venerable."

Most of the royal party looked surprised by this exchange—but not the gnome, who had been watching with a thoughtful, slightly amused expression. "Perhaps you should show Anduin how you looked back then?" she said.

The queen glanced at the gnome, then said—to the man's surprise— "Yes, if you can, please do so."

"How could I refuse a request from two such gracious ladies?" He made a sweeping motion with his hand, and in an instant was transformed. His simple dark clothes blossomed into an elaborate jacket and pants of swirl-patterned brocade and black leather tooled to look like dragonscale, criss-crossed with sashes, flashing with buckles, and swaying with fringe. Knee-high tooled boots spiraled up over his legs, an oversize turban shimmered into place over his hair, and his face was now that of a much younger man, barely out of his teens.

"Oh!" Anduin said. "It _is_ you!" He hastily shoved the blanket off his lap and struggled to stand.

Lady Susannah steadied him, though she also appeared to be gently holding him back. "Grandfather? Who is this man?"

"Please let me go!" Anduin said, pulling his arm free of her grasp and shuffling toward the stranger.

The dwarven ambassador, who had watched all this with growing astonishment, finally demanded, "What in Azeroth is going on here? He just completely—"

Anduin stumbled. As the stranger caught him he began weeping openly, without shame. "Wrathion! You're really… I thought I was dreaming!"

Wrathion patted Anduin's back reassuringly. "Yes, it's me."

"Wrathion?" the male elven ambassador said. "You claim to be the black dragon prince? Didn't he—"

"A black dragon?" the youngest of the great grandchildren cried. "Will it burn our city?" He started to cry.

Wrathion looked dismayed.

"The city is safe. There is nothing to fear," the Queen reassured the child. "Ask Kirsi. She knows all about dragons."

The gnome made a big show of looking around—poking into bushes and lifting up small rocks, asking, "Hello? Are there any scary mean dragons hiding over here?"—which gradually seemed to calm the child.

All this time Anduin clung to Wrathion as if still not quite convinced that his old friend was not a hallucination. "You wouldn't be taller than I am now if I hadn't shrunk so much," he said with mock peevishness, then turned his face into Wrathion's neck and said with quiet fervor, "I knew you hadn't died. I just knew it. They said you couldn't have survived, but I knew. Even though I couldn't find you, I knew." He tightened his embrace for a moment, then stepped back at last, though he held onto Wrathion's forearms for support.

"Let me help you back to your chair, grandfather." Lady Susannah gave Wrathion a boldly appraising look before putting her arm around Anduin and carefully leading him back to his wheelchair.

"Did you know that some mages can change their bodies to look like anyone or anything they want?" Kirsi said to the still fearful child. She then raised an eyebrow expectantly at Wrathion.

"Oh!" Wrathion said after a moment. "Oh, yes, that is true." He bowed his head slightly and gave it a shake, transforming himself into a Wrathion-sized calico cat.

The child's eyes widened, and the older children gasped.

Wrathion wiggled his nose so that his whiskers twitched, then dropped to all fours.

"Ha!" Anduin had settled himself in the wheelchair and was holding up his arms so that his granddaughter could tuck the blanket around him. "Before we know it he'll want a saucer of milk and a nice fish to eat!"

This, finally, coaxed a giggle and a tentative smile from the sniffling princeling, and a proclamation from one of the other great-grandchildren that _they_ wanted to be a face-changer mage when they grew up.

Wrathion shifted back to his initial, human appearance. As the king and his family moved forward to pay their respects, he stepped aside and, with a half-smile at Anduin, edged toward the path that led out of the garden.

The movement did not escape the queen's notice. "Please don't hurry off," she said. "Stay a while longer."

Wrathion glanced from the queen to the king, who looked no more welcoming than he had previously.

Anduin held out his hand. "Yes, stay," he said. "I'm not done with you yet."

It was at that moment that, with a crack of thunder, the first raindrops began to fall, and so Wrathion raced with the others back to the Keep.

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… 2 …

Despite their efforts, the thunderstorm was faster than they were, and they were drenched by the time they reached the Keep. The party adjourned to the great room, where they put their boots and outer layers of clothing near the small fireplace to dry. The queen sent servants off to fetch mugs of soup and hot beverages, and to bring lap blankets and shawls against the chill.

As the storm unleashed in earnest, pelting the windows and rattling the casements, the visiting dwarven scholars added logs to the fire in the great-hearth, stoking it into a blaze, while those who were otherwise unoccupied began to move the room's couches and chairs to take advantage of its warmth.

The gnome Kirsi supervised as Wrathion and the elven ambassador carried a large couch from the far side of the room. "I'm glad to see that the queen talked you out of sneaking away," she said as they placed the couch at right angles to the hearth.

"I did not wish to intrude on the family any further," Wrathion murmured.

"Impressive shapeshifting you displayed earlier," the ambassador said, seating himself on the couch in a way that made clear that he felt he had done his share of the manual labor.

"You are too gracious," Wrathion replied with a small bow. "I fear I have barely mastered the rudiments despite many years' practice, and have not yet grasped the true essence of shapeshifting."

The elf gave a small nod, approving of this elaborate humility, and said, "Few do. Still, your cat was passable—"

Wrathion had already turned away.

"How rude!" The ambassador was almost comically astonished.

"Please excuse us," Kirsi said, then hurried after Wrathion, who was walking to the far end of the room to pick up some chairs. _If I didn't know for certain that you are who Anduin thinks you are,_ she said silently to him in Draconic, _I would have pegged you as an imposter trying to trick an old man._

 _Oh? And why is that?_ Wrathion asked, hoisting a chair in either hand.

 _You're working so hard to be helpful and polite. Self-effacing, almost. I saw you eyeing that little chair behind the ambassador's couch; do you plan to sit in the shadows where you can barely be seen?_

 _What if I do? Is it so unreasonable to wish that my flight was known for something other than pretense and destruction? For terrifying children?_ Wrathion shot back as he placed the two chairs he was carrying near the fire and then went back to bring two more _. And as far as blending in—here_ you _are, living among humans, Kirsidormi._ _How many of them know you are a Bronze?_

Kirsi shrugged. _The king and queen. I told them_ _I wanted to do something with my Lorekeeper knowledge beyond just accumulating it, so I offered to serve as Royal Azerothian Historian. And since knowledge is pointless if it's not passed on, I offered to tutor their children in history._ _They accepted. It's an arrangement that makes everyone happy._

 _You are also well-placed to observe history as it is made,_ Wrathion pointed out as he placed the second pair of chairs.

 _I suppose so, but I've never been as interested in world-changing events and grand gestures as most of my flight. Too many of them are so focused on protecting the timelines that lead into the future that they forget that the past needs our love and attention as well._

 _I couldn't agree more._ With a wry bow, Wrathion then went to sit where Kirsi had indicated, on a padded footstool in the shadowed nook to the right of the mantel.

She laughed, and then went to where the Queen and Lady Susannah were fussing over Anduin—toweling his rain-damp hair, helping him into a dry jacket, kneeling to put warm socks and soft slippers on his gnarled feet. Anduin's wheelchair had been placed directly in front of the fire; the chairs arranged in a semicircle to either side of him made him the keystone in an arch.

 _Tell me one thing,_ Kirsidormi asked Wrathion. _Previously you left the flowers without being seen. Today, you allowed yourself to be caught. Why?_

A number of people who had not accompanied the family to the garden had begun to gather around Anduin, attempting to engage him in conversation. Although they spoke to him as if he were both simple-minded and hard of hearing, Anduin answered with distracted politeness, leaning from side to side in his chair and peering around them, searching for something. He looked increasingly bewildered, like a man lost in a thick forest.

 _Selfishness,_ Wrathion told Kirsidormi. _I know he is fading; I wanted to_ _be near him and_ _hear his voice one last time._

Anduin finally caught sight of Wrathion, and smiled with relief.

A servant approached Wrathion with a tray. "Something to warm you? We have beef broth, cream of leek soup, mulled cider, spiced wine, and several types of tea."

"Nothing for me, thank you," Wrathion said, smiling back. "The sight of my old friend has already given me all the warmth I need."

 _You've been secretly watching him all these years, if you know how weak he's become._

Wrathion did not deny it.

Kirsi shooed the crowd around Anduin away, then took a cup of tea from the tray. _He's been doing much better than could have been expected, given the damage his body has taken over the years. But now his bones are so brittle that they break if he coughs too hard or bumps into something… which is a danger now that his vision has started to cloud. Even so, he's always cheerful and loving, although he must be in nearly-constant pain._

 _I sense there is something you are not telling me,_ _Kirsidormi._

 _Well, recently there are moments when Anduin doesn't seem to know who he is, or where he is, or what he's just said or heard—and then afterward, once he's aware that it's happened, he's so ashamed. It tears him up._ She took a deep breath and sipped her tea. _It tears_ all _of us up._

 _Why does he not use the Light to restore himself?_ Wrathion asked. _It has healed him in the past. Does it now fail him?_

 _No, but it can only go so far,_ Kirsidormi responded. _It can heal injuries like cuts and broken bones, things that would have mended on their own given time and proper care. This is different._

 _This forgetfulness is a malady of the mind?_

Kirsi nodded. _In a way, the worst part of it is that he knows what he's losing._

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Once all the guests were seated and served, the king asked Anduin to reminisce about the adventures he'd had in Pandaria as a young man.

 _Why would the king suggest this?_ Wrathion asked Kirsidormi. _How does it help Anduin?_

 _Sometimes talking about who he was helps him hang on to who he is,_ Kirsidormi conceded. _But mostly it just makes him happy._

To the crowd's dismay, Anduin shook his head. "Wrathion is a much better storyteller than I ever was," he said. "Get him to tell the stories instead."

This statement caused several whispered conversations to break out between those who had heard of Wrathion and those who hadn't. With the entire room now looking expectantly at him, Wrathion said, "A compromise, perhaps? We could tell them together."

"Good idea! Come out of that dark corner and sit by me," Anduin said. He then looked pointedly at the dwarven ambassador to his right.

After a moment she caught on and said hastily, "Aye, I'll move, and he can sit here!"

Reluctant to be in the spotlight, Wrathion nevertheless seated himself to next to Anduin and began to coax the stories from him, plying him with question after question. It wasn't long before Anduin transported himself and his audience to the past with his tales of mogu and jinyu, of hozen and saurok. As the rain continued to pelt the windows of the keep and late morning passed into afternoon, Anduin began to speak of Taran Zhu and Chen Stormstout and Lady Snow Blossom; of Lor'themar Theron and Lady Proudmoore, of the Four Celestials and the mantid, isles of giants and thunder, of the Thunder King and the Divine Bell and even Garrosh Hellscream—and still his audience was entranced.

As was Wrathion. He appreciated how generously the firelight warmed Anduin's pale gaunt features and returned the lost gold to his white hair, but he also saw how much talking about the past enlivened Anduin: his face had begun to glow with enjoyment, his gestures were becoming more animated, and, to the delight of the children gathered around his feet like puppies, he was beginning to imitate the voices of the people in his stories.

By the time the day had started to darken into twilight, Anduin had segued into an honest account of why the Alliance had been in Pandaria in the first place, and how those who had brought their war to the misty continent had reawakened the sha. He was taking a break to soothe his throat with honeyed tea when one of his great-granddaughters tugged his sleeve. "Tell more stories about the hozen, greypappa!"

Anduin looked down at the child and his smile faded. "Who are you people?" he demanded. "Are you friends of my father's?"

The soft murmur of conversation in the room ebbed as Anduin's expression shaded into confusion.

"Where is he?" Anduin asked fretfully. "Why isn't he here?" And then realization swept across his face, and he put his head in his hands, keening in an open-mouthed cry.

Wrathion, startled and thinking that Anduin was having some sort of seizure, rose from his chair, but then Anduin closed his mouth, dropped his hands, and, his eyes brimming with tears, told his great-granddaughter, "I'm sorry, sparkle, but I'm done with stories for now." He handed his mug to Lady Susannah, and then—once again the frail old man who had entered the cemetery—struggled to push himself up from his chair. "Why am I always in this thing! I'm not a cripple!"

Wrathion and Lady Susannah helped him stand. "I'll take him from here," Lady Susannah said.

Wrathion nodded. Anduin awkwardly grasped his hand and said, "It was so good to see you." His smile was more a grimace, as if willing that the past moments could be entirely forgotten. "Don't rush off, I'm not done with you yet."

Wrathion nodded, and watched as Susannah, followed by the king and queen, took Anduin away.

This was the signal for the remaining guests to disperse.

Several of the guests were peering at Wrathion with far too much curiosity, and so he began returning chairs to the far end of the room, an activity that discouraged all but the elven ambassador.

"Wrathion. Son of Nyxondra, blood of Neltharion." The ambassador had levitated the couch and was directing it back to its original position. "Are you truly he, or is Stormwind's former king merely suffering from a pitiable delusion?"

"Does it matter?" Wrathion asked, his eyes flashing red as he bared his teeth.

"That's answer enough for me," the ambassador said smoothly. He set the couch down and left Wrathion alone.

Wrathion opened one of the great room's tall windows. The storm had crept away, leaving cool, clean-smelling air and a tapestry of muted sounds. The wet streets and rooftops far below the Keep shimmered in the light of streetlamps and the rising moon.

He sat on the window sill, making no acknowledgement of anyone else's presence.

More than an hour passed before he was alone with the dying fire. He closed the window, and then returned to the low chair next to the mantel, staring at the empty space where Anduin's wheelchair had been until the doors opened.

Kirsi, the king, and the queen entered. The king motioned to his guard, and they withdrew, closing the doors behind them.

Wrathion stood. "This looks… ominous."

The king clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. "Kirsi has told us that you are, in fact, who Anduin said you were, and that you know many things about him."

 _They doubted him?_ Wrathion asked Kirsidormi.

 _Just listen._

"What you may not know is that, ever since the war with the Legion, he has been obsessed with the eyewitness accounts of a lone dragon that threw itself recklessly against the Dark Titan himself in order to deflect an attack on Anduin's flagship. Though the dragon was struck down, the precious respite its sacrifice bought for the Army of Light is seen by many as one of the turning points of that battle."

"Surely that places too much importance on a single action?" Wrathion said.

"Not at all," the king said, then continued with what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. "After the Great Concord was established, Anduin searched for years for any trace of the dragon. He told me once that he hoped that it had lived, so that he could find it some day and thank it for buying us time. For helping to ensure Azeroth's freedom."

"Many fell during that war," Wrathion said.

Kirsi scowled in exasperation. _Stop that._

"Nevertheless," the king said, "on behalf of King Anduin and the people of Azeroth, allow me to thank you. None of us would be here if not for you."

Wrathion opened his mouth, and then closed it without saying anything. He gave an almost imperceptible bow of gratitude.

 _What they're not saying,_ Kirsidormi informed him, _is that they also recognize your_ other _sacrifice. By not letting Anduin know you had survived, you made it possible for him to grieve and move on, to marry and have children._

 _How much do they know?_

 _Before today? Only rumors about how close you two were. But tonight, when Anduin went on and on about you… well, they could barely get him to_ _stop talking and_ _go to sleep. I think the word 'infatuated' was used._

"It has been a very long time since my father has been as happy as he was today," the king said. "I realize that you must have duties and responsibilities elsewhere, but if you could find it in your heart to stay a few days, we would be very grateful."

"Yes," Wrathion said. "I can find it in my heart to stay. As Kirsi must have told you, dragons do not abandon those they care for."

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… 3 …

Beginning the next morning, Wrathion proved the truth of his words. He was with Anduin from daybreak to sunset. They ate when Anduin was hungry, and sat by the fire when Anduin was cold. When he sensed that Anduin was restless or in pain, he told him stories or read aloud to him him to distract him—and when Anduin dozed off mid-story, Wrathion sat with him until he woke.

It was during one of these naps, during the afternoon of the second day, that Lady Susannah came by. Noting that Wrathion sat looking out the window with the closed book beside him, she asked, "Would you like something else to read?"

"No."

She smiled briefly, then left.

When Anduin woke, he asked if Wrathion would like to go for a walk outside. Spurning the wheelchair, he insisted on walking, leaning heavily on both his cane and Wrathion's arm.

"I should be angry at you," he said unexpectedly, as they walked around the cloister that enclosed the small park off the throne room.

"Angry at me? Why?"

"For not letting me know you weren't dead." Anduin stopped walking and wiped at his eyes with the back of the hand holding his cane. "You knew how much…" The storm of emotion had him in its grasp, and he couldn't go on.

Wrathion waited until Anduin was ready to walk again before he answered. "And if I had come back? Your father was right; who would have wanted to risk their life knowing their husband had a jealous lover—"

"Ex-lover."

"A jealous ex-lover in the background? One who literally could breathe fire?"

"I could have married you both," Anduin said.

Wrathion laughed. "I very much doubt your subjects would have accepted that! Or your wife, for that matter."

"No, she would have," Anduin, now calm, said. "But you were dead."

"I… " Wrathion was nearly at a loss for words. "I admit, that would have been something. What an extraordinary woman."

Anduin smiled sadly. "She truly was."

They finished their circuit of the park. As they went back into the Keep, they passed a narrow arched doorway that led to a spiraling stone stairway. "Let's go up here," Anduin said.

Wrathion, thinking that Anduin had exerted himself enough already, said, "Shall we leave it for later? I'm more in the mood to sit by the fire and play jihui, if I can remember the winning strategy."

"You know very well that the winning strategy is to let both players win," Anduin said. He pressed one hand against the stone wall—there was no railing—and with the help of his cane maneuvered himself up one step. "I'm going up. It's one of my favorite places in the Keep. You can leave me to go sit by the fire. "

"I thought humans became wiser and gentler with age," Wrathion said, "not more difficult."

"You don't have to come with me," Anduin said with infuriating calmness as he painstakingly navigated another step. "I'm used to climbing stairs by myself. I've done it many times. Thousands of times."

Wrathion's mouth quirked in exasperation. "How many of these steps will you need to hoist yourself up to get to the top?"

"I think two hundred," Anduin said matter of factly, "but I've never kept count."

With an exasperated growl Wrathion stepped forward, picked Anduin up, and began to carry him up the stairs.

"This is ridiculous," Anduin said. "You are ridiculous."

"If anything is ridiculous, it is your overly dramatic behavior." Wrathion adjusted his hold, worried that Anduin wasn't secure.

" _My_ dramatic behavior? You just swept me up like… someone from a Marcus romance!" Anduin shifted slightly, settling more comfortably and putting an arm around Wrathion's neck to help support his weight. "Although, I will admit I could get used to this form of transportation. It's too bad carrying me would be tiring." He rested his head on Wrathion's shoulder.

 _" 'Strength used in the service of others is twice as powerful as strength spent on our foes.' "_

"So you learned something from the Celestials after all? I'm impressed."

"Why would you think I did not?" They had reached the top of the stairs. Wrathion carefully put Anduin down so that they could open the door. "For my part, I am astonished how rude and disagreeable you have become in your old age."

Anduin smiled. "Oh, I've missed this."

"This?"

"Your insults. I know they all love me, but they treat me like I'm made of spun glass. Naive, angelic, spun glass."

Wrathion snorted. "With all that you have survived? You are steel, not glass."

The view from the top of the tower was indeed spectacular. To their right, treetops nestled against the low foothills that protected Stormwind's northeastern perimeter. The quicksilver water surrounding the small island of the Eastern Earthshrine was directly below them; to their left, the city's colored roofs spread to the horizon like a gigantic quilt.

"I used to come up here on foggy days and pretend it was Mason's Folly," Anduin said.

"You missed Pandaria that much?"

"I missed you. I had long imaginary conversations with you up here."

Wrathion was about to reply to this when Anduin gasped, and then said, "Oh no." He bent over slightly, then turned toward the stairs. "No, no, no."

"What's wrong?"

"I've got to get back!" he said. "Now!"

"Where?"

"Downstairs!" He almost stumbled in his haste.

Wrathion picked him up and began to run the stairs, wincing at how much much the impacts were probably jostling Anduin.

"Hurry!" Anduin said, "I can't—" Tears began to trickle from his eyes.

Wrathion reached out to Kirsidormi. _Come quickly! Something's wrong!_

 _Where are you?_

 _Southwest tower stairwell. Descending._

By the time Kirsi and Lady Susannah met them at the bottom of the stairs, Wrathion knew what was wrong.

Anduin had soiled himself. "I'm so sorry," he said, utterly miserable. His face was wet with tears and flushed with shame.

"Follow me," Susannah said to Wrathion, who was still carrying Anduin.

"This isn't the way to his room!"

"That's not where we're going." Lady Susannah went a short way down the hall and opened the door to a sparsely-furnished, windowless room.

A nightstand with a basin of water stood between two white-sheeted beds; there was a wooden cupboard in the corner, and next to it a table with neatly stacked bandages and rows of elixirs. With a nod Susannah indicated that Wrathion should put Anduin on the bed.

"What can I do to help?" Wrathion asked Kirsidormi, who was stirring the water in the basin with a heating wand.

"Let us take care of him," Susannah said quietly, taking washcloths and a set of clean clothes from the cupboard. "This is a small matter, quickly tended to. He'll be ready to resume your walk shortly." She then not so gently pushed Wrathion out of the room and closed the door.

Wrathion ranted silently to Kirsidormi for a solid quarter-hour about the impossible fragility of humans and the unacceptable indignities of their senescence before the door opened and Anduin reappeared. Bathed and in clean clothes, he asked Wrathion if he was still in the mood to play jihui.

Behind him, Susannah's expression clearly communicated that a great deal was riding on Wrathion's answer.

"I am," Wrathion said. "Do you plan to walk to the great room, or do you expect me to carry you?"

"I'll walk, but reserve the offer to be carried for later."

Kirsi clucked her tongue and shook her head. Susannah's smile was warm and approving.

Anduin said nothing on the way to the great room. Wrathion accompanied him in companionable silence.

The great room was filled with sunshine. As Wrathion moved the jihui table in front of one of the windows, Anduin said abruptly, "That's only happened to me once before."

"What?" Wrathion said distractedly, then understood. "Oh. That."

"Well, it's your fault," Anduin said, beginning to arrange the jihui cubes. "How am I supposed to pay attention to anything else with you around?"

"Me? You are blaming me?"

"Yes." Anduin turned the Crane cube, his usual opening. "You are too distracting."

"Distracting? How?"

Anduin looked up, and the smoulder in his tired blue eyes spoke for him before his words did. "You are still the most fascinating man I've ever met."

"Not surprising, as I'm not truly a man at all." Wrathion's hand hovered over a Fireship, but instead he moved Tiger forward two places, toward Crane.

"Hm, I remember differently." Anduin was looking down at the board, but he was smiling.

"Are you flirting with me, King Anduin?" Wrathion asked.

"It's very possible."

.

The next few days were more the the same: walks, jihui, playful conversation. Various family members looked in on them now and again, but for the most part left them alone.

On the evening of the fifth day, after Anduin had excused himself—being careful to avoid having another unfortunate incident—Wrathion had begun putting away the jihui board when the King and Queen came into the great room.

"Do you have a moment to speak privately?" the queen asked.

"Certainly."

As she motioned for the guards to leave and closed the doors, the king said abruptly, "My father wants to go adventuring with you. In Pandaria."

"Adventuring?"

"That's what he called it," the queen said, "but I'm sure he just meant that he'd like to see the sights. One last time," she added sombrely.

"The trip would kill him," the king said. "He's too frail to travel, not to mention mountain climbing and extremes of weather…" He sighed. "If only he had wanted to go off and do this twenty, even ten years ago, I would have supported him completely. But now—I do not think I can allow it."

"Let me guess—when you told him of your concerns, he was not dissuaded?" Wrathion asked.

"No, he was not," the king said. "If anything, he became more adamant. Said that taking such a journey was his decision—"

"Is it not?"

"It isn't if he won't listen to reason." The king paused, chewing on his words for a moment. "I hadn't realized until now how oblivious I've been to the changes in his mental and emotional state."

"Don't blame yourself," the queen said. "The changes have been so gradual, we all missed them. And your father's been good at covering for his lapses until lately."

"You say he deceived you to hide his condition," Wrathion said quietly, "but surely he only did so to lessen your sadness about this sickness for which there is no cure."

"I suppose you're right," the king sighed. "So what are we to make of his request to go adventuring? How can we know if it is truly something he wants, or simply a whim of his condition?"

"Does it matter?" Wrathion asked. "What harm is there in allowing him to revisit the locations of his youth if it would make him happy? It will be a simple matter for me to transport him there, take him around to the sights, and then bring him safely home."

The king's face hardened with anger. "You would defy the wishes of his family?"

Wrathion folded his arms and said firmly, "If visiting Pandaria is what Anduin wants, I shall take him there. With or without your approval."

The king and the prince glared at each other until the queen put her hand on her husband's arm and said, "In the end, though, wouldn't we rather have your father's final days be filled with joy? You said yourself how wonderful it was these past few days to see such a change in him since Wrathion's been here."

The king rubbed his eyes. "Yes, it's just that… when I think about how soon we'll lose him, it's difficult not to be greedy, to want him to stay here with us until the very end… but I also can see how humiliating it is for him to constantly be reminded that his memory is beginning to fade. I dread the day when he won't even know that he's forgotten us. I think he does as well."

"I have acquired some knowledge of this illness since I arrived," Wrathion said, "and it seems that Anduin is still very early in his decline. Such a day as you describe will not come for years, if at all." Wrathion realized too late the implication of this statement, that Anduin might not live long enough for his mental faculties to deteriorate completely, for he added, "And at any rate, visiting Pandaria will not take years, only a week or two. Surely his love for you will preserve his memories during such a brief time."

The king nodded once, reluctantly. "It is only because I love him so much that…" He paused, and took a deep, steadying breath. "How soon would you leave?"

"A day, perhaps two," Wrathion said. "We cannot leave until I have consulted with an ironsmith."

.

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 _~ To be continued ~_

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A gift for **alternatedoom** (aka mintcreme) based on a prompt they left at the WCKM asking for Wrathion and elderly Anduin, this story incorporates headcanon enthusiastically adopted from their story "In the Heart of the Kingdom," a beautifully-written tale—simultaneously sweet, sexy, and amusing—about the circumstances and repercussions of Anduin and Wrathion's first time. This story is also dedicated to the marvelous fanartist **captaindazya** , whose Wrathion and elderly!Anduin comic over on tumblr has been the cause of much happy misery the past few years.

A final note: Although this story was initially sparked by a kinkmeme prompt, certain indignities of old age have been treated in a realistic rather than an eroticized manner. I chose not to tag for some of that content: if you have any concerns or questions about what might be included, please contact me at at silverr1 .

Grateful thanks to **bryn** for beta and use of Kirsi/Kirsidormi.

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 _first post 26 August 2016; rev 14 Oct 2016_


	2. The Veiled Stair

Disclaimer: _Warcraft_ and _World of Warcraft_ are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of _Warcraft, World of Warcraft,_ or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

 _Summary:_ Near the end of his life, a widowed former king in declining health reunites with an old friend.

This story contains a nod to alternatedoom's story _Steamy Water_ , which can be found on Ao3. _  
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 **Cenotaph**

 _by silverr_

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The Veiled Stair

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… 4 …

Two days later, in the hour before dawn when most of Stormwind was asleep, Wrathion, Anduin, Anduin's family, and Kirsidormi gathered on the top of the southwest tower.

 _Have the king and queen prepared them to see their their beloved elder being carried away by a dragon?_ Wrathion asked Kirsidormi.

 _The king and queen didn't. Anduin did, Kirsidormi replied._ _He said that, just as the citizens of Stormwind had realized during the last war that—despite past events—not all orcs are irredeemably bloodthirsty, so too should they understand that not all dragons are destructive._

 _Orcs. What a charming comparison._

 _And then he said, 'It comes down to this. Wrathion is my friend. He is also a dragon. Learn to accept it.'_

 _This explains the looks I'm getting, then._

Anduin, who was bundled head to foot in winter clothes as if he were already on the summit of Neverset, stepped up to the contraption Wrathion had had made and asked, "So I'm going to ride in this?"

"What do you think?" Wrathion asked.

Wrathion had had the ironsmiths enclose the wicker gondola of a Pandaren hot air balloon in a strong but light cage-like framework. Flaps of sailcloth canvas hung from the upper part of the frame to keep out rain and cold winds, but could be raised to let in the sun and view the scenery. The frame was topped off by a thick iron rod, to which was attached a four-point harness of very thick leather.

"I'm going to feel like a songbird in this thing," Anduin said.

"I remember your singing," Wrathion said. "Has it improved?"

The chorus of _No!_ that came from the family was followed by laughter.

"Now, one more thing." Wrathion gave Anduin a simple metal diadem which held a large unpolished primal diamond.

"Oh, I recognize this," Anduin said. "It's like the ones you gave to those adventurers you were always wheedling into doing your dirty work. I told them not to take gifts from you."

"Advice which they wisely ignored," Wrathion said. "Put it on; it will allow us to converse while I am in dragon form."

"Hm." Anduin set it on his head. "Feels odd to wear one of these again."

"It suits you," Wrathion said softly. "Very regal."

Anduin smiled, then turned to his family. "Well, I guess we're off? See you in a week or two!"

"Oh dad!" The king rushed to Anduin and hugged him fiercely. "Have a wonderful time. But don't get into trouble!"

"Which do you want me to do?" Anduin asked with a grin. "Should I stay out of trouble, or have fun?"

As the queen, Lady Susannah, and the rest of those present said their goodbyes, four rucksacks of clothing and other supplies were secured inside the basket's corners and covered with thick cushions. Lady Susannah also stowed a thick bedroll and two pillows, saying to Wrathion, "I know you said the flight to Pandaria will take only a few hours, but he might get sleepy."

Wrathion nodded. "Best to prepare for all contingencies." He glanced at the horizon, which was beginning to lighten. "I fear we are going to give Stormwind's bakers and other early risers a fright if we don't leave soon. Citizens might be panicked by the sight of a low-flying black dragon."

"That's appreciated," the king said.

As the family went through a final round of goodbyes and helped Anduin get settled in the gondola, Wrathion clambered to the top of the frame. Balancing on the rod, he lifted up the harness and draped a strap over each shoulder, adjusting them until the junction was between his shoulderblades.

"What is that for?" Susannah's brother asked her.

"Preparing for all contingencies," she replied, smiling at Wrathion.

Wrathion looked down at Anduin, who had pushed all the cushions and bags to one side of the gondola so that he could sit at the other. "Ready?"

"Ready!"

"Let's move," Kirsi said to Anduin's family, "or we'll get hit by dragon tail."

Once they were safely out of the way Wrathion adjusted the harness a final time, then held out his arms and took dragon form.

A whelp no longer, he dwarfed the humans, who drew back, startled. As his hind feet came down, cracking the flat stone tiles of the roof, he gripped the gondola's iron bar with his forelimbs and flapped his wings just enough to lift off.

"Oh my!" Anduin said.

Lady Susannah, who had spread her arms protectively in front of the others, called up to him. "Grandfather, are you alright?"

Anduin looked down over the edge. "Oh yes, I'm fine. Just lurched for a moment."

"I was wrong to doubt your claim that Wrathion could protect you," Susannah said, squinting her eyes against the stone dust stirred up by the gusts from the dragon's slow wingbeats.

"He's keeping his weight off the tower so he won't do any more damage," Anduin explained.

 _Have they truly never seen a dragon?_ Wrathion asked. _Kirsidormi, didn't you ever show them your true form?_

 _Wasn't a need to,_ Kirsidormi responded.

 _Really? Then tell them I'm not fully grown,_ Wrathion suggested.

"Don't worry, there is nothing to fear," Anduin reassured his family, then murmured to Wrathion, "Behave."

 _What do you mean?_

"You gave me this circlet so that I could hear what you're thinking," Anduin replied, keeping his voice low, "so I know that right now you're tempted to show off. Roar and breathe fire."

 _Show off? Hardly. Why would I want to do that?_

 _Because you were offended that Anduin's family didn't recognize you as dragon royalty the moment you met,_ Kirsi interjected. _Even though you've come to like them, you're still sulking about it._

Wrathion snorted, smoke rising from his nostrils in elaborate whorls. _An overstatement. I wasn't truly offended then, and I'm certainly not sulking now._

Anduin chuckled. "Oh, of course not."

The king glanced over at the queen, then called up to Anduin, "Is everything alright, dad? Having second thoughts? Or did you forget something?"

"No, no, I'm good," Anduin replied, waving goodbye yet again. "We'd better get going, Wrathion. Before you panic half of Stormwind."

The dragon rose into the air with a single powerful wingbeat, banking smoothly to glide over the high rocky hills protecting Stormwind's eastern boundary. He followed the line of foothills south past Northshire Abbey, adjusting his bearing southwest in order to pass midway between Goldshire and the Stormwind gates, then angled west across Mirror Lake.

 _Are you comfortable?_ he asked Anduin as they passed over the Westbrook Garrison. _Is the basket swaying too much?_

"It's fine," Anduin said. "Not much different than the deck of a ship. Or a rocking chair."

 _Do you need to stop for anything before we head out to sea?_

"You mean, so that I won't have an accident? Don't worry, I took care of that. But I would like to make a detour to Westfall—there's a farmer there that grows the most delicious berries I've ever tasted."

 _Berries._

"Yes. Strawberries, blackberries, gooseberries, yellow raspberries. All very delicious."

 _As you wish. Where is this farm?_

"Midway between Jansen and Furlbrow—oh, you don't know where those are. Head for the blue windmill to the right of those yellow trees." As Wrathion changed course, Anduin continued. "Westfall looks so beautiful from up here." The prairie, formerly brown and withered, had rebounded after the war, and was now as green as Arathi and dappled with farms large and small. "The Brotherhood have done an amazing job."

Wrathion set the gondola down behind the barn—to the great agitation of the farm's livestock—and then, shifting back to human form, followed Anduin to the front door of the cottage.

"Sorry to disturb your breakfast," Anduin said when the farmer had opened the door, "but I was wondering if you had any berries for sale?"

The farmer's surprised delight at having a former king of Stormwind as an early-morning customer was quickly superseded by his astonishment at Anduin's mode of transportation.

"Basket of berries," Anduin said merrily as he boarded the gondola, "for the old king in a basket. It seems fitting, doesn't it?"

Wrathion exchanged an amused look with the farmer, then said, "You may want to step back. King Anduin is traveling to Pandaria, and I'm about to transform into a dragon and carry him there."

To his credit, the farmer was only momentarily startled; then, as Wrathion took off, he shouted, "Come back any time!"

As they headed out over the Great Sea, Anduin settled down into the cushions. "I assume we're staying at the Tavern in the Mists?" he asked. "The berries will make a fine gift for Tong and Madame Goya."

 _They retired a number of years ago._

"Oh."

 _There is no 'oh.' Retired people eat—or they could, if any berries remain by the time we arrive._

.

Anduin gradually fell quiet as they began to travel over the Great Sea. When Wrathion had tried to communicate with him several times without a response, he carefully pressed just far enough into the old man's thoughts to satisfy himself that the cloudy murmur he encountered meant that Anduin was simply dozing rather than ill.

By the time the landscape of Pandaria began to resolve out of the mist over the Great Sea, he decided to bypass the Temple of the Jade Serpent—the monks weren't expecting them until tomorrow anyhow—and continue on to the Veiled Stair.

Initially Wrathion had relocated his base of operations from the Eastern Kingdoms to Pandaria because he had predicted—correctly, of course—that many of the people drawn to a newly-revealed legendary land would be bold adventurers. Exactly the type he wanted to recruit for the fight against the Legion. By the time his scheme to unite and strengthen Azeroth had started to go awry, the unexpected had already happened. He had fallen in love with Pandaria, its people, its architecture, its spectacular views, and with a certain prince of Stormwind who had been convalescing at the Tavern in the Mists. Wooing and winning the idealistic and exasperating champion of the Light had not only been one of the high points of Wrathion's life, it had also led to many revelations about himself and various aspects of existence. He felt he he had come to understand, as no dragon before him ever had, the human concept of love and the intricacies of human coupling./p

There was a rustling sound from the gondola. "Well, that was unexpectedly… vivid," Anduin murmured.

 _What was?_ Wrathion hadn't meant for his fond recall of his liaisons with Anduin to spill over into the old man's mind.

"A dream," Anduin said as he sat up and looked out of the gondola. "Oh! We're here!"

 _Is there any place you want to visit right away, or do you wish to continue on to the Tavern?_

"The Tavern, I think," Anduin said. "I'd like to hand over these berries and stretch my legs. After that… well, there will be plenty of time for everything else."

.

At the western edge of the Jade Forest, across the Yan-Zhe river, an area of low blocky cliffs and steep rocky paths known as the Veiled Stair nestled against the massive mountain barrier that protected the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. The Spring Road that ran through the Veiled Stair connected the Ancient Passage—which led north to Kun-lai Summit—with the Path of a Hundred Steps—which led south to the Valley of the Four Winds.

At the southern end of the Veiled Stair, east of the Path of a Hundred Steps, a peninsula jutted out over the river far below. The tip of this peninsula, the highest point in the Veiled Stair, was known as Mason's Folly, and was reached by a meandering set of mossy, weather-softened stone steps. It had been a favorite sunning spot for the convalescing Anduin a half-century ago.

Directly across the river from Mason's Folly was a one of the pinnacles of rock that rose above the Jade Forest and the Veiled Stair, and it was on one of the tallest of these that Wrathion landed, setting the gondola down in front of a small, elegant, south-facing portico set against a rocky outcrop.

Transforming back into his human guise, he came around to lift the latch and open the door of the gondola.

Anduin, ensconced in his pile of cushions, eyed Wrathion's simple Pandaren-style tunic and trousers of dark linen with a half-grin.

"What?" Wrathion asked, smoothing the tunic. "Is something wrong?"

"I was wondering if the clothes appear automatically," Anduin said, groaning a little as he let Wrathion help him to his feet. "Or do you shape them?"

Wrathion frowned. "I thought you would like this! When we first met you told me I looked—what word did you use?—ostentatious."

Anduin nodded, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he turned and stooped to pick up the basket of berries. "Actually I probably said 'gaudy.' That outfit had so many frills and layers. Overly complicated." He stepped carefully out of the gondola.

"So you find this design too plain?" Wrathion pressed. "You would prefer I wear something more elaborate?"

"I didn't say that." Anduin was looking down at his feet as if he wasn't sure where to put them. "I only asked about your clothes because I was curious where they came from, and I'm only teasing you about your old Black Dragon Prince regalia because I still remember how long it took to unwrap you." Acting as if he did not see Wrathion's astonished reaction, he looked around and asked, "Where are we, exactly? This place isn't familiar."

"I call it Wrathion's Ascent. It's where I stay when I visit Pandaria and don't wish to mingle with the locals." Wrathion pointed. "See that large white-trunked tree leaning over the edge of the cliff on the far left? That's Mason's Folly."

Anduin squinted. "Is it? I can't tell from here." He shaded his eyes with his free hand. "Madame Goya's looks different. Closer to the edge of the cliff than I remember, and bigger. Are those other buildings new, or is my memory playing tricks again?"

"No, you are remembering correctly. Originally there were only two buildings, Goya's and the Tavern, and they were both very small," Wrathion said, unloading Anduin's bags from the gondola. "More like residences than businesses. One room downstairs, and a communal sleeping room upstairs."

Anduin sighed. "Oh yes. That I do remember. Still, the best soups have a long, slow simmer." He had taken off the circlet and was holding it loosely in his hand.

"Soups?"

"It's something my wife liked to say," Anduin replied. "Everything was so public at the Tavern, everything I said and did. No place private enough to do what I wanted… which gave me plenty of time to adjust to wanting it." He chuckled. "By the time you showed up in Stormwind, my sexual frustration had built to a point where I could think of little else."

Wrathion considered this for a moment, then gave a small, pleased smile. "Ah, I see." He went to the gondola and retrieved Anduin's bags. "The Tavern's been expanded since we stayed there," he said. "I feel as though they add a new building every time I'm away."

"Didn't you tell me that Goya and Tong had retired? Who's running things now?"

"Felicity and Lak'tuka's children, along with a number of retired Blacktalons." Wrathion carried the bags toward the portico, and Anduin followed.

The portico was essentially a roof over a small pool of water, from which lazy wisps of steam uncurled. Behind the pool, a deep, wood-lined sleeping alcove was set into the rock; to the right of the alcove was a small, elaborately-incised iron door.

"You have a hot spring this high up?" Anduin asked. "How is that even possible?"

"I have my ways." Wrathion had set the bags down next to the alcove, and gone back to the gondola to retrieve Anduin's bedroll and the cushions.

"Is that where you sleep?" Anduin asked as Wrathion came back and placed the bedroll in the alcove.

"No," Wrathion said. He turned his head to look back over his shoulder at Anduin. "Perhaps I can show you where I sleep later—" he let this statement hang in the air for a beat—"but at the moment we have a gift to deliver, do we not?"

Anduin nodded. He placed the circlet Wrathion had given him on the bedding.

Wrathion picked it up. "You don't want to wear it?"

Anduin shrugged. "It's—"

"Ostentatious?"

"Yes."

"Well then." Wrathion waved his hand, transforming the circlet into a thin torc with a hinged clasp. "How about this?"

"Hm." Anduin peered at it. "Doesn't look all that different."

"Let me show you." Wrathion stepped close, undid the clasp, carefully set the torc around Anduin's neck, then pulled up the edges of Anduin's collar to cover it. "Better?"

"I suppose." Anduin leaned toward him. "How can your smell be so familiar, even after so many years?" There was a beat, a moment of heated silence, and then Anduin reached out and touched one of the dark horns nearly hidden in the tangled curls of Wrathion's hair. "Do the locals know you have these?"

"Ah, thank you for the reminder." Wrathion smoothed his hand over his horns, turning them invisible. "A few do. Most don't." He brought his hand down from his hair and rested it on Anduin's shoulder. "Perhaps we should—"

"Yes, fly down to the Tavern." Anduin turned toward the gondola.

"Too much bother," Wrathion said. "Much easier if I just carry you over."

Anduin glanced with some trepidation at the tiny buildings far below. "Carry? You mean fly? As a dragon?"

"No, I mean carry. Levitate down." He paused for a moment. "Anduin, are you afraid that I will drop you?"

Anduin looked surprised. "No!" He shook his head and said more firmly, "No. I… I just don't like heights."

Wrathion glanced past Anduin to the gondola, then raised an eyebrow.

"That was different," Anduin explained. "We weren't that high. You had wings." He took a deep breath. "Alright, let's go. Before I change my mind." He picked up the basket of berries, then turned sideways and put his free hand around Wrathion's neck.

"There is nothing to fear," Wrathion said softly, picking Anduin up in one swift motion and walking off the edge of the cliff.

As they began to float smoothly down toward Mason's Folly, Anduin gave a small, pained gasp. "I know you've got me, but… it still feels as if I'm falling." His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was gripping the handle of the basket so hard that his knuckles were bloodless.

"Before we land, let me ask you something," Wrathion said. "I've been wondering about it since you asked about the clothes I make for myself when I leave dragon form. Would you prefer I not wear any?"

Anduin's eyes flew open just as Wrathion's feet touched the ground, and he shook his fist in mock fury. "You did that to distract me!"

Wrathion smiled faintly.

Anduin chuckled and looked around. "I remember this place! It hasn't changed a bit." He set down the basket of berries, then carefully moved closer to the low stone railing.

"For someone afraid of heights, you used to sit surprisingly close to the edge. It gave some of the adventurers quite a scare."

"I actually sat there to try to conquer my fear," Anduin said. "The adventurers shouldn't have worried; I always had at least one foot on the ground." He put one hand on the brass and stone finial, and looked down. "Such a beautiful view."

Below them the feathery treetops of the Jade Forest spread a carpet of green; only the massive arched bridge leading to the Temple of the Jade Serpent—which from this height looked toylike—provided a sense of scale. Beyond the treetops, the late afternoon sky melted into the Great Sea.

"Did they ever rebuild the Yu'lon statue?" Anduin asked. "It's too hazy today to see from here."

"Yes. We can visit it later, if you like?"

"I would." He took a deep breath. "I want to see everything. So many memories here!"

Wrathion watched him carefully. "Most of them pleasant?"

Anduin turned. "Oh yes." He bent slightly and then gingerly sat on the wide stone railing.

Wrathion, taking note of Anduin's bleary eyes and sagging posture, said, "There's likely to be a small welcoming party waiting at the tavern, but we don't have to stay long."

"Pandaren are such a hospitable people," Anduin said dreamily. "Any excuse for celebration. I especially remember the 'First Turnip of the Season' party. Or was it jade squash?"

"I still can't believe that you actually drank after each toast," Wrathion said. "You should have pretended to drink. You were not accustomed to Stormstout brew."

"But the farmers were all so proud! It would have been rude to pretend!"

"So like you," Wrathion said, "to endure a hangover in service of diplomacy and goodwill." He shook his head, remembering. "Well, as I began to say, I suggest we deliver the berries, have a quick word with any old friends present, and then take our leave. No need to stay for hours."

"Just long enough to claim that we made an appearance, you mean?"

"I don't think I can stay awake for much more than that," Wrathion said, pretending to yawn. "I'm very tired from the flight. I need to sleep soon. Regain my strength."

"Typical dragon. Always thinking of yourself."

Wrathion gave a small apologetic shrug. "It is my nature."

Anduin snorted. "I know what you're thinking."

 _Oh? Tell me, what am I thinking?_

"You can't wait to get me into your bed, you depraved seducer."

"Alas, you see right through me." Wrathion glanced down the hill. Two figures were sprinting up toward them. "Our escort is on the way."

A few minutes later, two muscular young women arrived. They had pale greenish skin, slightly pointed ears, and small, distinctly orcish fangs.

"Welcome back, Mister Cole," the shorter of the two said to Wrathion.

"Riesa!" Wrathion regarded her with affection. "It's so good to see you again."

"We would have been here sooner," Riesa said, "but it took Vieka a while to find where Auntie Snowpaw had stored the sling."

"Thank you." Wrathion turned to Anduin. "My friend is capable of walking down to the Tavern from here, but I thought perhaps his energy might be better saved for more exciting activity."

Anduin, puzzled, looked from Wrathion to the two half-orcs.

Vieka, the taller of the two, held up a large folded piece of canvas. "Produce sling," she said. "Used to carry big vegetables down in the Valley."

Riesa gave her an exasperated look. "Vieka! Diplomacy!" She then explained to Anduin, "I hope you're not offended, but the sling is how we carry… well, anything valuable that would get bruised bouncing around in the back of a wooden cart. Many, er, older Pandaren enjoy riding this way in the off-season."

"Oh, I'm not offended," Anduin replied. "I've been compared to far worse than a ripe melon."

Vieka and Riesa unfolded the sling. There was a sturdy leather loop at each end, which they put over their heads and adjusted so that it ran diagonally across their chests. Holding the sling down low while Wrathion helped Anduin straddle it, they then lifted and spread the canvas as Anduin sat back and half-reclined.

"Oh!" he said, holding onto the sides as Wrathion helped him swing his legs up and over and inside the sling. "A hammock! I slept in one like this on the Vanguard!" As they started down the hill, Anduin raised an eyebrow at Wrathion. "Now this is travelling in style! Thank you, Mister Coal."

 _There's a story behind that,_ Wrathion replied. _I came back here often after the war with the Legion ended—incognito, of course, as it confuses people to tell them who you are if they think you dead. One of the identities I used was 'Cole, Trader in Antiquities and Exotic Goods.' One day, when Tong mentioned to Cole that he was thinking of retiring, I impulsively offered him an extravagant sum for the Tavern and the surrounding property. I feared that if he found no buyer, the Tavern would fall into ruin, and I did not wish to see that happen. I admit I also had some vague notion that perhaps I could run the Tavern in Tong's place: after all, how difficult could it be to pour beer and collect money?_

 _Not long after, Madame Goya approached me and hinted at her intention to retire. After pointing out that the auction house's plot of land was larger than the Tavern's, she claimed that her list of clients was far more extensive than Tong's and her business far more profitable—claims that I knew to be true. When she concluded her pitch by stating that she would be willing to settle for only slightly more than Tong had received, I was amused, and so bought her out as well._

 _You will not be surprised if I admit that I quickly realized that I had neither the knowledge nor the inclination to run a tavern. Fortunately my two most trusted Blacktalons—the human you knew as Right and the orc known as Left—once again showed their unnerving ability to anticipate what I needed, and came to my rescue by offering to make my vague dream of preserving the Tavern in the Mists a reality._

 _As it turned out, the two proved to be as adept at running a business as they had been at spying and killing my enemies. Several of the Blacktalons followed them into respectability, and The Haven in the Mists became very successful._

As they reached the bottom of the hill and headed toward the Tavern, what had seemed at first glance to be a jumble of buildings revealed itself to be a deft placement, in which the dozen cottages and communal structures surrounding Tong's tiny tavern and Goya's auction house—connected to the old buildings by meandering white stone paths—took advantage of the undulating landscape and ancient trees of the Veiled Stair to give each building an air of cozy seclusion.

"Small party, you said?" Anduin said as they approached the tavern.

The space between the tavern and the flightmaster was crowded with Pandaren. Some were flying kites; others were playing music for those dancing; a few sat on the grass verge playing board and card games. Still others were gathered around the various large kegs, avidly discussing the merits of each brew.

"That is a small party… for Pandaria," Wrathion said.

Inside the tavern, a table so large that there was barely room for chairs around it had been set up in the center of the room. As Anduin and 'Cole' entered, there was cheering and applause. Most of those present were half-orcs and young Pandaren, but there were a number of elderly humans and Pandaren seated at the table as well, and an orc with white braids.

Anduin, momentarily overwhelmed by the clamor, turned to Wrathion with a bewildered expression. "Who do I give the berries to? I don't recognize Madame Goya or Tong."

"Follow me." Wrathion took the basket of berries and steered Anduin toward the head of the table, where a tiny, elegantly dressed Pandaren matron held court.

"Welcome," she said warmly when she saw them. "Welcome! You look very tired. Cole, what have you been doing to this beautiful man?"

"I'm surprised that you recognize me after all this time," Anduin said.

"Recognize you?" Madame Goya tilted her head. "I'm sorry, dear, I don't think we've ever met. I am certain I would have remembered that Cole had a friend with such a silvery beard."

"Then why—" Anduin started to ask as Madame Goya looked around and asked, "Where is Xiulan? She loves silver hair."

 _ _She doesn't actually recognize you_ , Anduin._ Wrathion told him. _All she knows is that someone told her there was going to be a party.  
_

"Now what is this you've brought me?" Madame Goya asked as Anduin handed her the basket of berries. "A gift? How very thoughtful! They look delicious! Riesa, set aside some for me to take home to Tong, and then put the rest in the fancy bowls and find room for them on the table." She handed the basket to Riesa, who bustled away. "Tong was so upset that he wasn't feeling well enough to come today," Madame Goya said. "It's his back, poor dear. He can barely move!" She rose from her chair. "Now sit!" she told Anduin. "I saved this seat for you!"

"Oh, I couldn't..."

"Nonsense," she said. "I insist! You are the guest of honor!" She patted the back of the chair.

As Anduin reluctantly took the seat that Madame Goya had vacated, Wrathion came to stand behind him. _The elderly orc next to you is Lak'tuka._ Wrathion informed him. _You knew her as Left. Ever since Felicity died she's been very withdrawn; her children were surprised she came out of seclusion for this._

Anduin turned to her. "Take all the time you need," he told her. "It's been nearly twenty years, and yet I still find myself talking to my wife as if I expect her to be there." He looked down at the table, momentarily lost in his memories.

Lak'tuka nodded once. "Thank you," she said in a whispery growl. "I can see that you understand. How many years were you with her?"

"Almost forty."

"A good life." She put one gnarled green hand over Anduin's, then glanced up at Wrathion. "Take care of him," she said, although it wasn't clear to whom she was addressing this. She stood. "It was good to see you again, King Wrynn," she told Anduin. "Go with honor."

"May your blades never dull," Anduin replied.

She pointed to her chair, and told Wrathion, "Sit here."

"Now it is you giving the orders?" Wrathion murmured as he obeyed.

"It matters not who gives the command," Lak'tuka said, "if it leads to an outcome desired by all."

"True enough."

Now that Wrathion and Anduin were both seated, it was taken as a sign that it was time to eat and drink. A round of toasts followed, praising Anduin's courage and exploits. Wrathion looked amused as Anduin took the tiniest possible sip of each brew.

"But I didn't—" Anduin started to protest after being commended for defeating Lei Shen.

 _Just let it go,_ Wrathion advised. _Why ruin their celebration with historical accuracy?_

Fruit mead was next on the menu, a complement to the berries, which were passed around and enjoyed by all. Each variety was proclaimed to be more delicious than the last.

"I'd like to see what this farmer does with witchberries," one of the Tiller elders said, which led to a long, boisterous discussion of Nana Mudclaw's infamous witchberry julep "beauty secret."

Then the cooks began to crowd through the door, ready to bring in food from the cookpots outside. Each began to describe their speciality; each clearly wanted Anduin to eat their meal and no one else's. As the polite competition began to turn into jostling, Wrathion held up a hand. "Our guest is only one man," he said to the cooks. "Clearly, he is not accustomed to mid-day feasting."

"That's true," one of the younger Pandaren said softly. "Such a sad flat belly."

"But I know him well," Wrathion continued. "and I know that he would rather make himself ill than hurt anyone's feelings by refusing to sample the delicious food that you have prepared."

A collective sigh of understanding went through the crowd.

"Therefore, here is what I propose. You may each provide him with one mouthful of what you have cooked—"

There was a groan of dismay.

"—one small spoon or forkful." Wrathion spread his hands, and said in his most charming, persuasive voice, "Surely that is all it would take to charm his taste buds?"

The flock of chefs agreed to this, and the procession of bowls and platters began.

Stuffed lushrooms, steamed crab surprise, shrimp dumplings, Krasarang fritters, Chun Tian spring rolls, skewered peanut chicken, spiced blossom soup, Mogu fish stew, wildfowl ginseng soup, silkfeather omelet, student noodles, dragon's nest noodles, treasure noodles, sea mist rice noodles, Eternal Blossom fish, twin fish platter, green curry fish, fire spirit salmon, black pepper ribs, charbroiled tiger steak, wildfowl roast, valley stir fry, spicy vegetable chips, sauteed carrots… Anduin gamely tried them all, but near the end it was clear that even small mouthfuls had been too much. He was beginning to look extremely uncomfortable even before Vieka—who with Riesa was directing food traffic—announced, "For dessert we have mango ice, peach pie, seasoned pomfruit slices, and rice pudding. Oh, and red bean buns."

"As much as I love dessert," Anduin said weakly, "I don't think I have room."

"Now that you've eaten all that Pandaria has to offer," one of the master chefs said, "tell us which dish is your favorite?"

Anduin looked dismayed. "Actually… "

"What? Is something missing?" There was a sudden buzz of consternation.

Anduin leaned back in his chair and put his arms over his belly, which was now noticeably less flat. "Mei Mei Ironpaw used to make a soup—"

"Oh! Swirling Mist Soup!" A torrent of discussion followed, the gist of which seemed to be that Mei Mei had been a genius, the Supreme Master of soups, and that Swirling Mist was indeed fantastic, but no one had thought to make it because it was such a simple recipe.

"Almost as easy as golden carp consomme," someone joked, a comment which stirred up the avid consomme defenders.

Riesa worked her way around the room to lean down between Anduin and Wrathion. "We can make that soup for lunch tomorrow," she said quietly, "if you'd like to come by."

"That would be wonderful," Anduin said.

As the consomme debate began to splinter into several other topics, Wrathion touched Anduin's arm. "Need some air?"

"Walking might be good," Anduin said. "Let my food settle a little."

They eased their way out of the room, stopping every few steps to receive messages and well-wishes by the children or grandchildren of those who had known Anduin a half century ago but who were too old or infirm to make it to the party.

Outside, the late afternoon light filled the air with gold. They walked slowly toward the hot spring, the path marked by moss-covered white stones. At the end of the path, a large jar of glow lilies illuminated the hot spring, which was empty.

"Wasn't there a tree?" Anduin asked.

"It succumbed to some leaf disease," Wrathion said, "and had to be cut down."

"That sign is new." In several languages, it sternly prohibited public sex in or around the hot spring.

"Whenever I see it," Wrathion said, "I am reminded of the sin'dorei couple who invaded the hot spring the day you taught me to play jihui. They were quite affectionate."

"Oh yes," Anduin said. "I remember them. They propositioned me after you'd flown off."

"Did they really?" Wrathion crossed his arms and grinned. "And?"

Anduin shrugged. "And nothing. I didn't accept."

"A pity. Why not?"

"They were strangers, and Horde. And my guards were watching. And I was still recovering from my injuries."

"That last is a feeble excuse," Wrathion said, "as considerate lovers would have accommodated any frailty on your part. Still, you were young at the time, very naive about such things, and—"

Anduin made a noise somewhere between a snort and a sputter.

"—and if you weren't attracted to them—"

"I wasn't." Anduin sounded irked.

"So it was me who got you so aroused that day," Wrathion said smugly. "I always wondered."

They stood silently for a few moments, listening to the music and the indistinct burble of conversations from the Tavern behind them.

"The fact that they were Horde truly deterred you?" Wrathion asked. "I thought you were the champion of crossing faction boundaries and defusing animosity."

"I was," Anduin said. "But not for something as trivial as sex." Anduin held up his hand. "And before you make some ridiculous pronouncement about my prudishness or whatever, the main reason I didn't say yes to their offer was because I didn't know anything about them. They could have been spies. Or assassins."

"Or perhaps they were simply two elves of the Horde pleasuring each other in a hot spring as they enjoyed the blushes of a young prince of the Alliance?"

"It's possible."

"It's interesting," Wrathion said. "We both spent so many years trying to get the factions to set aside old hatreds and work together—a goal that I think both of us felt we would never achieve—and here we are, in the midst of the Great Peace."

"Quite an impressive revision of history," Anduin said. "As I recall, I was the one actually working to achieve peace, while you were more interested in having a clear victor emerge from the conflict."

"That is one way of interpreting it," Wrathion conceded.

"That's the only way to interpret it, because it's true."

"Let me ask you this. Surely you noticed that Riesa and Vieka weren't the only half-orcs among the guests and staff?"

"Yes. I've never seen so many in one place before."

Wrathion nodded. "Well, one could look at them, and rather than describe them as they are now, part of a large and loving family, one could focus on what they were before Felicity and Lak'tuka found and adopted them. Children who were the unwanted product of wartime violence. Children who were reviled and ostracized by both factions, and subjected to years of hardship and misery. Is either part of their life's history 'truer' than the other?"

Anduin sighed. "I see your point, but it's off-topic. You can't claim that you've always been a peacemaker just because the chain of events you set in motion ultimately led to peace."

Wrathion shrugged. "Fair enough. I can admit that I miscalculated, made mistakes. Blame it on the poor judgment of a young whelp. My intentions were honorable, however. I wanted to unite Azeroth against the Legion. I thought freeing Garrosh would bring that about."

"If you had worked with us instead of being secretive and trying to manipulate everything like a godlike puppetmaster—"

"Godlike puppetmaster? What a marvelous phrase."

"I'm serious!"

"So am I." Wrathion sighed. "Please believe me, Anduin, that if I could go back in time again there are events I would handle differently. Outcomes I would want to prevent."

"Outcomes like the death of thousands and thousands? Including my father?"

"That was… " Wrathion looked away. "I expected events to follow one of the timeways Kairozdormu had told me about, paths he had seen long ago, in which Gul'dan died on Draenor, his life force drained to power Garrosh's portal into Azeroth. Kairozdormu never mentioned the possibility that Gul'dan might be freed and ally so enthusiastically with the Legion—but then again, Kairozdormu apparently did not foresee his own death." He reached out into the empty space where the tree had been. "Sooner or later, everything crumbles into dust. Even Bronze dragons."

"Not just Bronzes," Anduin said. "All the Aspects are mortal now."

"Oh, don't feel too sorry for them," Wrathion said, shaking off his sombre tone. "I wager they retain a great deal more of their power than they let on."

"You don't associate with them?"

"My very creation sets me apart. Heir of Deathwing, cleansed of corruption by a Titan artifact, incubated outside space and time…"

"Yes, I've heard the story," Anduin said dryly. "Does your unique origin mean you're immortal and invulnerable as well as all-knowing?"

"I would have thought so."

Anduin started to say something, but seemed to think better of it.

"Well," Wrathion said after a bit, "I think we made enough of an appearance that we will not offend anyone if we leave. We've been here for hours."

"We can't go without saying goodbye!"

"They won't let us go easily. We could be here for hours more."

The decision was taken out of their hands, as nearly the entire party descended on them with samples of dessert, invitations to stay and watch the fireworks, and a few joking reminders to read the sign posted by the spring. By the time Anduin and Wrathion had said their farewells the sun had set, and the first stars were winking in.

They began to walk toward Mason's Folly; once they were far enough from the Tavern—where the celebration continued under the sparkle of fireworks—Wrathion flew them up to his roost.

"Do you want to sit in the hot spring for a while?" Wrathion suggested after they landed. "It might aid your digestion and help you sleep."

"Oh, I don't think I'll have any trouble," Anduin said through a yawn. "It's been a long day." He stretched. "I'm too tired to change into my nightshirt. I'm going to be lazy and sleep in my clothes."

"Should I light a small lamp?"

"No."

Wrathion spread out the pillows and cushions in the alcove, then unfurled the bedroll atop them. "We can borrow a mattress tomorrow."

"What are you going to do now?"

"If it won't disturb you too much, I think I'll soak in the hot spring for a while, and then go to sleep early myself."

"Wrathion," Anduin asked, with peculiar emphasis, "where do you plan to sleep?"

"I have chamber below that—oh." He turned. "Anduin, do you wish for me to sleep up here with you?"

"Oh, just ignore me." Anduin sat abruptly on the edge of the makeshift bed. "I am a foolish old man who doesn't know what to do." He wiped at his eyes.

Wrathion sat beside him. "My dear king, what is making you so sad?"

"I loved her," Anduin said after a while. "I loved her so much. Our marriage was satisfying, in every way. Romantically, sexually, intellectually, spiritually. She was my friend, my confidante and advisor, and a marvelous mother to our children. And she was loved, so loved by our people and everyone who knew her."

"Not surprising," Wrathion said. "She was an exceptional woman. No wonder that you didn't want to be with anyone else after she died."

"No, I didn't, because she was the only other person I had ever truly loved and truly felt passion for. Once she was gone no one else—" He turned to Wrathion. "How do you know so much about her? Or that I haven't been with anyone since she died? Have you been spying on me?"

"Spying? I wouldn't call it that," Wrathion said casually. "Spying seeks to uncover secrets in order to use those secrets to one's advantage. I merely observed you. There was no malicious intent; quite the opposite. I was motivated by concern. I needed to know if you were happy with your decision to end our relationship. I wanted make certain that you did not regret it."

"Did you ever see any evidence that I did?" Anduin demanded.

"Only once," Wrathion said. "At Gallywix's Pleasure Palace."

Anduin looked startled.

Wrathion kept going. "You would never go to a common brothel, with its limited selection and haphazard security: no, a royal needs discretion, but discretion is expensive, which meant Gallywix's. I predicted that you would conceal your identity, a not uncommon practice for Gallywix patrons, but it was simple to purchase a service which informed me immediately if someone of your general description arrived asking for a particular type of companion. Such persons were to be shown to a particular room in the suite I had previously rented."

"You couldn't possibly have known—"

"I rented the suite for the entire year."

"A year?" Anduin shook his head. "You paid for the exclusive use of a Gallywix suite, for a year, on the off-chance that I might show up?"

"Two years, actually, and very nearly regretted it. How many times did I rush to Azshara, only to be disappointed by the sight of yet another blond noble rutting with a badly costumed dragon prince! I was almost tempted to donate clothing to their wardrobe department simply to preserve my reputation."

"What do you mean, 'by the sight' of the nobles?" Anduin was sounding more and more outraged.

"The suite had two rooms," Wrathion said. "There was a viewing hole concealed in the adjoining wall."

Anduin shook his head. "That… that is beyond belief!"

"Do you doubt I was there? Very well, I will convince you. The room had red furnishings and a sturdy canopied bed. Your companion was a dark-haired blindfolded half-elf wearing a garish brocade coat and black leather breeches. Upon entering the room he told you, quite cheerfully, that he could pleasure you manually, orally, or anally, or strip for you and pleasure himself while you watched. He also said that if you wished you could fuck him, or hit him, though he asked that you not strike his face hard enough to leave bruises."

Anduin became very still. "How could you do such a thing to me?" he choked out at last. "Pry into my life in such a way? And then, to tell me about it only now! It's humiliating?"

"No, no, no, "Wrathion said quickly. "How can you be humiliated, when there was nothing to be ashamed of? You were unmarried at the time, not yet even engaged, and despite the half-elf's enticements all you did was sit and look at him for an hour. You even told him 'No' when he began to undo his breeches because he thought you were too shy to ask for what you wanted."

"I wasn't too shy," Anduin said. "I had changed my mind."

Wrathion nodded. "No need to explain; I understand entirely. You didn't want him because he wasn't me. When I saw you there, saw the torment and despair on your face, and understood what it must have taken for you to bring yourself to consider visiting such a sordid establishment, I knew I had to make it possible for you to set your feelings for me aside and marry. But how could I make you forget me? The only way was to take myself out of your world entirely, to cauterize your wound so brutally that you had no choice but to find another to love."

Anduin regarded Wrathion steadily. "You have always had a very high opinion of yourself."

"It's entirely justified."

Anduin began to laugh, louder and louder, until it sounded nearly hysterical. "You are a horrible person. A horrible, horrible person. How did I become so attached to such a vain, manipulative, deceitful man?"

"Actually, as I keep reminding you, I am not really a man at all," Wrathion said. "A dragon in human form is still a dragon."

"I guess—" Anduin yawned. "I tend to forget that." He yawned again as he began to pull the bedroll over himself like a blanket. "Good night, Wrathion."

"I can show you where I sleep tomorrow," Wrathion said, adjusting the bedroll to cover Anduin's legs. "As it is, you wouldn't survive for very long down there tonight."

Anduin sat up. "Is that so? Well, now you've made me curious. Show me. Let's go."

"I thought you were worn out and wished to sleep?"

"I guess I'm awake now. Second wind. Third." He pushed the bedroll away and got to his feet.

"Stay where you are, then," Wrathion said. "I was not exaggerating the danger." He went to the iron door next to the alcove and ran his hand over it.

The pattern on the door glowed red; then the door swung open, and a blast of superheated air and orange light spilled out.

Anduin shrank back. "What's down there? A furnace?"

"More or less," Wrathion said. He closed his eyes and held his hands up to the blisteringly hot air that was still pulsing from the doorway, and the light coming up from below began to subside. "How else to keep my hot spring hot?"

"And you sleep down there?"

"In dragon form, yes." He considered Anduin. "Don't touch the door or the walls as we descend; the metal and stone won't have cooled enough not to burn you."

Anduin closed his eyes for a moment, and a shimmering nimbus appeared around him.

"I could have warded you," Wrathion said. He sounded disappointed.

"I know," Anduin said. "I just like to remind myself that I'm still a priest now and then."

The descent was a steep, narrow ramp spiraling down through the rock, the only light coming from the rock walls that had cooled from bright orange to dull red.

Wrathion went first, walking slowly enough that Anduin could stay close behind him. "Let me know if the heat becomes too much to bear," he said.

Anduin panted a little as he renewed his shield. "I haven't experienced anything like this since the vision lodge Baine used to take me to."

They reached the bottom of the ramp. Wrathion held out his arm. "Stop here. Stay on the ramp. Do not step onto the floor."

The high-ceilinged chamber was smaller than Anduin had expected, and emptier. Most of the floor was covered by a stone mound, its surface latticed with glowing cracks that showed the nearly molten rock beneath.

"Cozy," Anduin said. "You actually sleep down here? I can't believe you fit."

"I'll show you," Wrathion said, "but then we must go back upstairs."

Anduin, whose face was flushed and glistening with sweat, nodded.

Wrathion moved toward the center of the room, transforming as he did so. Catlike, he turned around once, then settled onto the rock, taking up almost all the space in the room.

 _Happy?_

"Yes." Anduin noticed a box on a narrow ledge that had been carved into the wall near the bottom of the ramp. "What's in there?"

 _Oil to keep my scales in good condition. Bring it upstairs; you can help me apply it, if you like._

"I didn't realize dragons needed grooming products," Anduin said as he opened the box and took out a small bottle. "Should I bring this piece of cloth as well?" A square of garish brocade lined the bottom of the box.

 _No, leave it._

Anduin squinted at the fabric. "Wait, is this from—?"

 _Yes. A memento._

"I had no idea you were so senti—" Anduin managed to say before he collapsed.

Growling in frustration, Wrathion shifted out of dragon form, scooped Anduin up, and raced up the stairs. He carefully set him down on the bedroll, then ran to the edge of the cliff and dove toward the tavern to acquire some water.

He returned a few moments later with a bottle of lotus water in each hand. Setting them down in front of the hot spring, he carried Anduin out into the cool night air, then carefully trickled the water between his lips a few drops at a time.

"Stubborn old man," Wrathion said when Anduin finally opened his eyes. "Drink this." He helped Anduin sit up and handed him the bottle.

Anduin drank it down without stopping, then wiped his mouth and asked, "Did you go into the Tavern like that?"

Wrathion, who was naked, shrugged. "Riesa and Vieka have seen me in the Tavern hot spring, but if it bothers you… " He snapped his fingers, and a nightshirt of dark silk covered him to mid-thigh.

"How am I supposed to oil you now?" Anduin said, reaching for the other bottle of water.

"You want to do that now? Tonight? After you almost—" Wrathion stopped himself. "Of course, my king." He pulled off the shirt and tossed it aside. "Anything you wish." He stood and held out his hand.

"You manage to make nearly everything you say sound seductive," Anduin said, looking up at Wrathion's nude form with undisguised admiration.

"You object to that?"

"Not at all." Anduin clasped Wrathion's hand and let the dragon pull him to his feet. "I enjoy it." He took the bottle of oil from his pocket. "Where do you need me to apply this? All over?"

Wrathion took the bottle from him. "Hold out your hand."

Anduin, amused, did so, and watched as Wrathion poured a single drop of oil into his palm He recorked the bottle, then pressed his palm to Anduin's. "I can do my front. Will you oil my back?"

"The back of what?" Anduin asked. "Your left elbow?"

"This is not ordinary oil." Wrathion rubbed his hand over his chest, leaving a wide, gleaming swath behind.

Anduin peered at the drop in his hand. "All that from one drop?"

"Magic," Wrathion said.

Anduin began to rub Wrathion's shoulderblades, laughing a little as the oil renewed itself under his hand, spreading to coat his fingers and entire palm. He did both shoulders, pausing for a moment to watch the play of muscles as Wrathion massaged the oil into his arms, then moved down to the lower back, turning slightly sideways when his arm began to tire. "How far down do I go?' he asked.

"All the way." Wrathion bent over slightly and began to apply the oil to his thighs.

After a moment's hesitation, Anduin tentatively stroked his hand over Wrathion's buttocks.

"Surely you can do better than that," Wrathion muttered as he worked on his knees and shins. "Do you want my haunches to dry out?"

Anduin got an annoyed, determined look and massaged harder for a moment, then stopped. "What are you doing?"

Wrathion stood and turned to him. "Trying to help you move past flirtation and innuendo. Is that not what you want?"

Anduin snorted. "Well, of course I have fantasized about it, but you're not seriously suggesting we… become lovers again?"

"Why not?"

"Because I am old and withered and... pale and spotty and saggy and… limp."

"Not for long. Not if we continue," Wrathion said, grinning wickedly. When Anduin did not laugh he asked, "Should I give you a glamour to make you look the way you did when you were young? Would that make you more comfortable with the idea?"

"No, that's ridiculous." Anduin bit the inside of his cheek and asked sheepishly, "You can do that?"

"Of course, but let us be clear: it would be for your benefit, not mine." When Anduin scoffed, Wrathion said gently, "My dear king, did you think I loved you for your pretty face? Dragons are not concerned with appearances."

"Easy for you to say. Dragons are awe-inspiring and magnificent."

"Would it be better if I too was imperfect? Damaged, even decrepit?"

"You? Imperfect?" Anduin give a wry, lopsided smile. "Impossible."

Wrathion sighed. "Once again you are forcing me to show you something that no other being on Azeroth has seen."

"I don't understand."

"As you now know, I survived the encounter with Sargeras," Wrathion said, walking outside to the open area between the portico and the gondola. "However, my smouldering good looks did not."

He took dragon form.

"Oh," Anduin said as he saw Wrathion's true form. His eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Wrathion." He walked to the dragon, touching the twisted knots of scar tissue, the exposed ridge of bone above the sightless eye, the torn, twisted wings that had healed askew, and the many places, too many places, where discolored skin had grown over concaves of missing flesh.

 _Truly, you are the beautiful one now._

"Why didn't you tell me?"

 _I very much enjoy the way you have looked at me the past few weeks; it's far preferable to the look of pity you have now._

"It's not pity," Anduin said. "But it's true that seeing your scars, knowing you almost died saving me… it makes me sad. And angry as well, I suppose."

 _Angry? Why?_

"For depriving me of the chance to heal you. For letting me think you were dead. For deceiving me into abandoning you. For not trusting in our friendship, at a time when I had nearly adjusted to not being with you day and night. There were so many things I would have loved to share with you over the years, if only you had been there."

 _Wrathion exhaled a small puff of smoke._ I didn't think of it that way. _I was doing what was best for you._

"Shouldn't I have been the one to decide that? Or did you think so little of me that you didn't think me capable of running my own life?"

 _No, I didn't think you incapable. I simply felt able to see things you could not._

"You saw things that were not there, and didn't see the things that were."

 _It's too late for apologies. Is it too late to start over?_

"So much has happened today, so much has been… " Anduin paused to consider his words. "So many things I didn't know have been revealed, that I feel as though we are nearly strangers again."

"Then let me say that I am pleased to meet you, Prince Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind," Wrathion said with a bow, taking the form he had worn when he and Anduin had first met. "The hour is late, but perhaps tomorrow you'll allow me to buy you a bowl of Swirling Mist soup? In exchange, I am eager to learn about this strange Pandaren game in which both sides win."

"I think," Anduin said with a smile, bowing in return, "that you might have things to teach me as well, Prince Wrathion of the Black Dragonflight. I'm not sure I entirely trust you, but I am intrigued enough to accept your offer."

.

… 5 …

They slept the next day until the sun edged around enough to pour light on them, then went down to the Tavern for an early lunch of Swirling Mist soup and ginseng tea. After borrowing a mattress for the alcove, they took the gondola and travelled to the Jade Serpent and White Tiger temples, visiting until late afternoon. When they returned to the Ascent, Anduin took a nap, while Wrathion went to the Tavern and acquired not only supper, but a small table and two chairs. They ate by candlelight, then soaked in the hot spring as the sky shaded from sunset to dusk. Afterward they curled together on the bed, falling asleep to the sound of the wind and far-off birds.

During the days that followed, they visited nearly every corner of Pandaria. Anduin had received reports, of course, detailing Pandaria's recovery, but words on parchment did not have quite the same impact as seeing it for himself. The Vale, where the excavations had been sealed and the gouges in the land filled in, was beginning to flower again. The lakes of Kun-Lai Summit, which once streamed ichor, were again pristine and a source of clear visions for the jinyu. Lorewalker Cho's successor gave them a tour of the new monument to Yu'lon, and afterward they strolled through the Arboretum listening to story after story about hozen diplomacy. They travelled to Townlong, where they were briefed by Taran Zhu's daughter about the dormant mantid, and to the Isle of Thunder, where the mogu—now reverted to stone—stood at attention before an empty throne.

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"So what will it be tomorrow?" Wrathion asked at the end of their first week. "The Hawkmasters of the Secret Aerie have invited us to visit." He and Anduin were in the spring. Anduin sat astride Wrathion's lap with his head on Wrathion's shoulder, stroking his shoulder and chest. From time to time, Wrathion scooped a handful of water over Anduin's exposed shoulders and back to make sure he didn't become chilled.

"A secret aerie sounds fun." He slowly stroked the side of his thumb over a nipple.

"Have you seen everything you wanted to see?" Wrathion asked. "Done everything you wanted to do?"

"Yes," Anduin said, then added with a smile, "At least twice."

Their second night in Pandaria, they had become lovers again. There had been awkwardness at first, of course, shyness and frustration, as they began to explore what pleasures Anduin's frail body was capable of, but soon it was as if they were in the teenaged prince's quarters in Stormwind again, falling on each other after days apart.

"You'll certainly have many stories to tell your family when you go back. Although I don't think you should tell them how I modified my body for your comfort."

"No, I probably won't tell them that you reshaped your cock." Anduin sounded sleepy. "But my daughter—not the shiny one, the red one—she'll be happy to hear about the Vale. Trees are growing. And water. Stones and fish."

"Anduin," Wrathion said, drawing back a bit. "You're talking strangely. Are you alright?"

"I'm… tired. And that smell is getting to me."

"Smell?"

Anduin wrinkled his nose. "It's gone now." He pushed himself up and clambered out of the hot spring. "Time to sleep?"

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On the tenth day, Wrathion woke to see Anduin lying absolutely still, staring at the ceiling of the alcove.

"Lazy old lion," Wrathion teased, nuzzling his ear. "Are you planning to sleep all day?"

"I can't move my left arm or leg," Anduin said, tears beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes. "And I've ruined the bed."

"That is a small matter, quickly tended to," Wrathion said. He rolled out of bed, returning a moment later with a basin of warm water and some washcloths, then opened the iron door to the lower chamber.

"You can't… clean me up."

"It is true that I am royalty," Wrathion said as he gathered up the bedroll, "and normally such caretaking would be done by others. But, as you are a king who has tended to the sick; surely I can do it as well."

"But you aren't me," Anduin said. "You are nothing like me." He shivered despite the heated air flowing over him.

"True," Wrathion said. "I am vain, manipulative, and deceitful. Your opposite in every way." He dipped a washcloth into the water and squeezed it out. "If I roll you on your side, do you think you can lift your leg?"

"I can try." Anduin closed his eyes.

Wrathion began to gently wash him. As the cloth touched skin, Anduin gave a sharp intake of breath.

Wrathion stopped immediately. "Am I hurting you? Is the water too hot?"

"No," Anduin's voice wavered. "I'm just… ashamed to have you see me this way. That you have to do this."

"Dragons do not abandon those they love," Wrathion said quietly. "What would the other flights say if they found out that I had neglected my consort?"

This, at last, made Anduin laugh.

When Wrathion was done he lifted Anduin, wrapped him in the bedroll, carefully lowered him into a chair, then took the soiled mattress outside.

"There is no need to worry," he said when he came back with clean clothing. "Your strength will return." As he helped Anduin dress, he noticed that half of Anduin's face looked strange: one eyelid drooped almost closed, and one corner of his mouth was downturned. Wrathion asked, "This numbness? It has never happened to you before?"

"No," Anduin said. "Never." He began to sob. "I tried to use the Light, but it seems I no longer know how. And there are people, but I can't see their faces… "

Wrathion knelt next to the chair and began to stroke Anduin's hair.

"What can I do?" Wrathion asked. "What do you want me to do?"

"Bring me some tea," Anduin said. "To help me sleep."

"Sleep?"

"Yes." Anduin looked at him steadily, until Wrathion understood.

"Are you certain?"

"I keep losing pieces of myself," he said, anguished. "Soon there will be nothing left."

.

"It took me a while to find the best tea," Wrathion said when he returned. He poured heated water into a cup, then crushed leaves in his hand and stirred them in.

"What is it?"

"The herbalists have various overly-poetic names for it," Wrathion said. "None of which I can recall." He gave a final stir, then held the cup out. Anduin grimaced as he moved his arm to take the cup, and a shadow passed over Wrathion's brow. "In a few days you will be dreaming of nothing but warmth and light. I guarantee it."

Anduin took a sip. "It's bitter. "

"I'm sure Riesa has honey if you need it sweetened."

"I don't need it," Anduin said, then drank. As Wrathion took the empty cup, Anduin caught hold of his shirt, pulling him down for a kiss. "Sweetness enough," he said.

"I should go get a new mattress," Wrathion said as he set the cup on the table, "so that we have someplace comfortable to sleep tonight."

"Don't go yet. I'm not done with you."

"Of course." Wrathion sat down next to Anduin and took his hand.

"I knew you were lying," Anduin said after several minutes had passed in silence, "but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless."

"Lying? About what?"

"The injuries you showed me in dragon form. They were an illusion. You wouldn't have left yourself like that for sixty years. You admire your own looks too much." He squeezed Wrathion's hand weakly. "You would have mended yourself."

"You overestimate my power if you think I could repair damage that severe," Wrathion said.

Anduin shook with silent laughter. "Liar."

"You're not taking motivation into account," Wrathion said. "What reason was there to expend the energy, if I had no one to be magnificent for?" He lifted Anduin's hand, and pressed a kiss to it. "Now allow me to go get us a mattress, my king, unless you want to sleep in lava tonight."

.

The next morning, Wrathion helped Anduin bathe and dress, then gave him a bouquet of blue and yellow flowers to hold. "Time to go," he said, and then he gathered his love up into his arms and took him home.

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 _~ The End ~_

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 _first post 12 October 2016; revised27 March 2017  
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Thanks again to **bryn** for beta and use of Kirsi/Kirsidormi, to **Mipeltaja** for orc consultation and names, and to **alternatedoom** for such an enticing prompt.

Wrathion's Ascent—the name of the "roost" I created for Wrathion in Pandaria—is intended as a deliberate echo of Blackwing Descent.

Ms. Xiulan is an NPC (identified as Madame Goya's assistant) who sends you to steal a strand of Khadgar's hair during the Obliterium Fel Forge quest chain.


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